Kouign-amann
by Isehart
Summary: Set after the series finale, Will comes to terms with everything that has happened and both Hannibal and Will try to find stable ground.


Gifts were the new way Hannibal tried to talk to Will. It was horrifyingly quiet in their house. Changes in who they were from where they'd began had brought their conversations to a stand still. They sat, in chairs across from one another for hours, without saying a word. Hannibal wanted to speak, he had much to say, but the look he'd received from Will as soon as they'd pulled themselves out of the water and began their trek, far from everyone they'd known made it wither on his tongue. It had been months of silence and it was driving Hannibal mad. But he could tell in Will's eyes as he'd stare into space for hours that he was processing. Coming to terms with the blood on his hands. Building his rooms in his mind for the loved ones he was leaving behind. It was a massive overhaul of his mind and Hannibal was torn between a feeling of trepidation and excitement. He didn't know what Will would be when he came out of his chrysalis. When he ripped off his skin and stepped out new. Would there be any of the Will he loved, or would he be unrecognizable, would Hannibal awake to the monster he had created watching him sleep, pulling him apart at the seams?

So Hannibal busied himself with the things he knew his Will loved. He made delicious dinners, with alcohol a plenty, in the hopes that with enough lubrication Will would utter a word or two. He'd bought Will plenty of his terrible plaid shirts, but in a higher quality that they were -almost- fashionable. He bought Will new glasses, since Will's had been left behind along with everything he owned. He tried to retrieve Will's dogs. Through whatever channels he could but it'd be too suspect. Molly's eyes on their dogs was ridiculously sharp. He bought fishing gear. Not something Hannibal particularly enjoyed but Will followed dutifully to the fishing spot, over 2 hours away from their home, and they fished in silence for hours and hours. Will moved mechanically. They caught plenty to eat.

Hannibal moved them often. He'd get this feeling, he'd read things online, on sites other than tattle-crime which considered them both dead, a Romeo and Juliet double suicide of the murder husbands as Freddie Lounds wrote. He'd feel curious eyes on them. So in the mornings he'd get up early, pack all of their things. Will would get out of bed, or off the sofa, push his glasses onto his face, hair sticking at all ends, with a scruffy start to a beard, stare at the suitcases set out for at least a half hour before getting dressed and eating. Hannibal would wait at the door after breakfast for precisely 23 minutes to see if Will would continue on with him. And Will would appear, big sunglasses on his face and a hat, like a movie star trying to hide from the paparazzi with his bags and would walk out the door Hannibal held out for him. It was like clockwork. Everything a routine and mechanical.

They had taken awhile to heal and Hannibal would stand before the mirror eyeing his scars. He wanted to reach out to Will and trace his scars, to stand side by side and compare, to see how their story which was beginning to feel like a dream, was written in their skin, immortalized. They'd healed up nicely. Simple pale lines in his skin. Will's forehead, his cheek, Hannibal's eyes would always drift there. Hannibal had done a good job of sewing him back up. But after Hannibal had taken out the stitches Will flinched whenever Hannibal tried to touch him. So he stopped trying. He dreamt of their embrace on the cliff, craved it like a food you can't find in a foreign country that reminds you of home.

Will went for walks. Wherever they lived. With a hat to shield his face from the sun, and glasses he'd leave in the mornings after breakfast. After Hannibal went off to work, whatever job he'd lied with honeyed words to get. He'd wander the streets, the woods, the beach. He'd sit on benches, fallen logs and rocks and stare out into the world. Abigail would be beside him. Talking, smiling, bleeding. Beverly would walk by, sometimes whole, sometimes only a slice. Dr. Chilton would smile his toothy lipless grin, his burns cracking like the wood in a campfire. Sometimes he'd hear a gun cock, or a rustling in the leaves and he'll wait for Chiyoh, but she never come out of the dark. Georgia would be constantly aflame. He try to see her face but couldn't. Sometimes Hannibal visited and he had trouble keeping track which Hannibal was which. Which was a figment and which was real, even if one had horns he couldn't tell.

When he got hungry he'd walk home. Sometimes the path was flooded, in water, in blood. He'd wade through it as it'd rise. Sometimes he'd stop if a dog was tied up outside a shop or outside playing and the tides would go down. He carried treats in his pockets and would feed them, always allowed by them to run his fingers through their fur. He'd stay as long as he could before going to dinner.

At home, always huge, always decadent, always echo-y he'd take off his hat and coat, and go wash his hands. If there was blood in the entry way he paid it no mind and would make his way to dinner. Sometimes there'd be a third chair. Sometimes it'd be empty. Sometimes there would be someone, someone somewhat familiar. Sometimes they'd be alive and would talk animatedly with Hannibal. Sometimes they'd just bleed out. Sometimes they'd not realize they were dead yet. Sometimes they'd walk out the door. Sometimes they'd be on his plate.

Will could hear what they spoke of sometimes. He'd be introduced. "Will." or some other name. Sometimes Hannibal wasn't Hannibal and he wasn't Will. Usually a hand would reach out to take his and Hannibal would step in, "shock" "traumatic event" "healing" would wander through the quiet echoes and settle uneasily in his mind. "broken" would bubble up, not said outside of himself but within, like a whisper. Abigail would just smile at him and pat his hand and say "We're with him, We're home" but "home" would taste ashy in his throat. The guests eyes would be on him, full of concern and pity, finally noticing the scars. Scar's Will couldn't bring himself to look at. He covered the mirror in his bathroom. Shaved by memory. If he missed a spot, or if it got too bad Hannibal would take matters into his own hand. It was the only time Hannibal touched him. With a traditional blade, with quick gentle movements and plenty of freshly lathered soap. Will always waited for the blade to slip, to cut him accidentally. It never happened. He waited for Hannibal to finish, pull him into an embrace and slice his throat, so he could mirror Abigail. This never happened. He'd eye the blade, fingers itching to grab it and use it against Hannibal. Hannibal noticed. Saw the gleam in Will's eyes, the twitch in his fingers. But it never happened.

When Autumn came around again Hannibal smiled more. There was a giddiness, a slyness that had returned to him. Will spent a lot of time on the couch, with a coffee Hannibal had left him cooling within reach, buried under blankets and with the fire going. He'd started reading again. He would sit for hours inside reading. They were in the middle of nowhere this time. In the woods, far from anyone and a lot of the conveniences Hannibal enjoyed. Like Opera or great art. But to make up for it the house was filled with paintings and books and a piano. It was still grand.

Lost within his book Will didn't hear his name being called. Not until the 5th or 10th time. He looked around groggily. He hadn't heard his name being called in that way in a long time. There was happiness in it. He carefully sat the book down and pushed aside his blankets, and left his cocoon. He followed the voice to the front door. Hannibal stood with a smile, a box under one arm and his hand on the door nob. With one great flourish he swung open the door and there was a blur of brown and black and Will was on the ground, he let out a cry of surprise that sounded foreign to his ears. His voice had been unused except to wake himself up from nightmares in the dead of night for months, maybe a year, maybe longer. The air was whisked out of him and he struggled to get ahold of himself, to get some purchase. He could see Hannibal shutting the door and looking down at him with a grin.

Will felt his throat panic, it was a bear, it had to be, some tiger or something. This was how Hannibal would kill him, sic an animal on him, to be food for a beast. And Hannibal would kill and eat the beast. But claws never came. Pain never came, and the panic settled and instead a familiar whine echoed the house. A sound he hadn't heard in forever.

"Winston?!" Will choked sitting up. The dog curled up on his lap and Will wrapped his arms around his dog. Hannibal patted the Winston's head as he walked past into the kitchen, box still on his hip.

"Hannibal?" Will whispered.

"Yes Will?"

"What's in the box?" Will asked.

Hannibal smiled. "I thought you'd never ask. Come along."

Will didn't want to let go of Winston but Winston never left his side. They walked into the kitchen where dinner was cooking.

"I couldn't get all of your dogs Will, I'm sorry," Hannibal said. "I picked Winston, but if you'll take a seat I'll show you what's in the box."

Will felt his heart drop. He didn't want to know what was in the box. He tried to see if it was dripping. If there was blood. If it was big enough for body parts. But he sat down and Winston sat next to him, nosing his hand.

Hannibal came over, sat in his chair and put the box in Will's lap. Will stared at it. Unsure what sort of horrors were under the lid. Ears, a hand, would it be like Miriam Lass and Jack? A part of Molly?

"I don't wish to rush you, but you should make your choice soon, dinner is almost ready," Hannibal said.

Winston sniffed the box, looked up at Will and whined. Taking a deep breath Will steeled himself and lifted the box quickly. He stared in the box, speechless not by choice. He looked up at Hannibal who'd gotten up and was lifting a pot lid and watching him with intensity. Will tried to speak but it all got stuck in his throat. He lifted his wine glass, filled with blood red wine and downed it like a shot.

"Hannibal!" he tried, but it came out as a gurgled squeak. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Hannibal."

"Yes dear Will?"

"Hannibal," Will said.

Hannibal smiled at him, softer. Will held the box to himself unable to bring himself to reach into the box, the lid falling to the floor.

"Will, if you are ready, we have much to discuss," Hannibal said, filling plates and setting them out for them both and refilling Will's glass. Pulling a dog dish from the cabinet and setting it down and filling it with dog food that Will couldn't understand how he'd never noticed before.

"But Will, first, what will you do with what's in the box?"

"There's so many Hannibal," Will said, eyes wide as he looked at Hannibal.

"Yes, please choose before the food goes cold. It was not a farm fresh pig you would have liked."

Will reached in the box, then stopped and looked up at Hannibal. "I don't want to hurt them," Will whispered.

Hannibal sighed. "Really Will? You must relax, you won't hurt them," Hannibal said taking the box. He walked out and returned with a blanket. He draped Will in it, "Hold your arms out, so they don't go tumbling to the floor" Hannibal instructed as he tipped the box. Will hurried to do so and there were little squeaks and little paws running over his legs, and small pink shut eyed yawns. They shook themselves and wandered around on Will's lap and the blanket. Hannibal busied himself cutting up Will's food then leaned over to feed him. Will ate absently what Hannibal fed him, entranced by the puppies waking up on his lap. Fifteen puppies, tiny and barely able to open their eyes.

When Hannibal finished feeding Will he ate his own food and watched Will stare at the puppies and Winston watching quietly, tag wagging.

"Where?" Will asked, eventually as the candles burned low.

"A mill."

"Their parents?"

"Being treated for the wounds they suffered and then are to be dropped of in the morning."

"So more?" There was hope in his voice.

"Yes. You'll have a pack soon enough."

"Hannibal?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to move."

Hannibal laughed. Gently scooped up the puppy filled blanket, taking it from Will whose face fell.  
"Then lets move somewhere you will be more comfortable."

Will followed him, quickly, at his side faster than Hannibal had seen him move in a long time. Hannibal settled onto the couch with the puppies. Will sat next to him, leaning to gently stroke at their fur. Winston rested his head on Will's leg. The fire burned in the fire place and Hannibal rested his arm on the back of the couch and Will filled up the space at his side, drawn towards the puppies. Hannibal breathed Will in. The shampoo Hannibal had picked out specifically for Will smelled as good as he had imagined.

They sat, Will watching the puppies, playing with them, Hannibal watching Will, until the sun rose and there was a knock at the door. A puppy or two rolled over at the sound, kicking in their sleep at the air, surrounding Will. Hannibal gently disentangled himself from Will, loosing the warmth of their closeness as he went to answer the door. He removed bolt after bolt, and placed his hand on the wall where he'd stuck a knife for unwanted rude guests. He looked down the little hidden road as a car pulled away and down on the porch where several dogs stared up at him, sniffing him warily, before smelling their pups, bursting through the threshold, bounding down the hall. Hannibal heard a cry of surprise as he checked for any forgotten dogs or unwanted eyes before shutting the door, locking it and walking to where Will was, getting acquainted, and buried under their new dogs.

"Hannibal!" Will cried, hand reaching out from under a pile of dogs, buried under them on the couch. Hannibal took his hand and pulled, dislodging dogs that quickly rescued their tumbling pups. The force of the pull brought Will into his arms. Will took a moment, head on Hannibal's shoulder, before looking at the reunion, rescued puppies and dogs and Winston, sitting within reach.

The dogs woke Will up. He spoke more. His walks in the woods were more like that of a Shepard then of a sleepwalker. He let Hannibal touch him. Hannibal experimented. He could put his hand on Will's shoulder without a flinch. He could have his arm around Will on the couch if they sat together. He could touch Will's hand, but he hadn't taken it within his own yet. He experimented slowly. Cautiously, afraid to send Will running back into his cocoon. Afraid Will would run, like a wildman, into the woods with the dogs. Especially with winter on its way.

The puppies grew and were quickly trained. Their personalities vastly arrayed and Hannibal had favorites, but knew Will loved them all equally, like a good parent. Hannibal preferred the quiet ones, who would watch him cook and happily eat up scraps of fat or chew on bones, crushing them for the marrow. He could sense the wolf, hiding behind their wagging tails and tiny paws. He wondered if they'd be good hunting dogs, but dismissed acting on the idea, at least for the moment.

One evening with the dogs lying by the fire and Hannibal at the piano playing Adolph Henselt's Ballade Op. 31 while Will drank his coffee, wrapped up in a mound of blankets, Hannibal felt eyes on him. He played the song to it's end, feeling the intensity of the gaze on his back, the nape of his neck. He stood at the end of the song and turned to face Will and took the softness out of his own eyes, they stared at one another as the stars came out before Will not breaking their gaze tapped on the couch beside him.

Hannibal obliged, sitting beside Will and turned to face him. Will pulled his legs up and looked at Hannibal. Leaning with his back against the arm of the couch.

"I think I know which you is you now," Will said.

Hannibal didn't respond.

"Building rooms is hard. Trying to figure out which ones to lock and which ones to leave open is difficult. Do I leave painful things open out of respect and honesty or do I lock all the doors shut and just move forward? There are different versions of you," Will said, eyes sliding from Hannibal's face to look at something behind him.

"The you with antlers that fades into darkness, the elk, the you in your people suit and the you without. They wander the rooms and I've had trouble telling which is real and which isn't. Is the you having dinner with me real? Or are we still in your office, sitting across from chairs, like this has been one long dream? Do I visit you in your room? Your church? Am I in the hospital again and you're bringing chicken soup? Am I real or just a figment, having been all consumed by you? Am I me? Am I you? Am I a broken tea cup, or have I mostly put myself back together again?"

Will drank his coffee the steam fogging his glasses momentarily. Hannibal reached across and took them from his face, folding them and setting them on the coffee table.

"It's been...strange," Will said, tasting the word on his tongue. "I feel like here, far away from everything and everyone that it is all a dream. As if I'm someone else whose been dreaming of someone else's nightmare."

"Would you recognize yourself if you see yourself in the mirror?" Hannibal asked.

"I don't know. I feel like I should be able to. How do you forget what you look like? A person shouldn't change that much within, how long has it been, a year, more?"

Hannibal nodded.

"But memories of people and faces fade."

"Do you want to see yourself?" Hannibal asked. "You've never seen some of your scars. You've hidden from yourself for a long time. You covered the mirrors without even looking as soon as you could."

"I know. Maybe. Yes."

Hannibal took the mug from Will and set it aside before standing and holding his hand out to Will. Will took it and followed him, stepping carefully around the dogs who perked up as they walked towards Hannibal's bathroom. Hannibal put his hands on Will's arms, facing him towards the mirror. Will looked at himself in the bright light, in the pristine white bathroom with marble countertops. He touched the scar on his forehead, the one Hannibal had made. Then the new one. The one the dragon left. He didn't notice Hannibal had let him go as he unbuttoned his shirt, looking at the scar on his stomach, familiar, his temporary goodbye from Hannibal. Then at his shoulder, another gift from the dragon. He looked at Hannibal, sitting on the counter, watching him.

"Do you see yourself?" Hannibal asked.

"I see someone I knew, I'm not sure if I still know him though," Will said, staring at where he knew the dragon had shot Hannibal, scars that Jack and others had made.

Hannibal removed his shirt and folded it behind him on the counter. Will's fingers were warm and soft on the scarred engrossed. Hannibal touched Will's scar, like he'd wanted to since before it had healed.

"How do you feel?" Hannibal asked, barely a whisper.

"I'm not sure," Will said. "Bedelia and I talked a lot of you. Of our relationship. As hard as I've tried I just can't. Being without you is...difficult. There's no use of ruses or games anymore. No more cat and mouse. You set out your trap long ago for me, and there's no where else for me to go."

"A trap isn't exactly what I was setting out for you. I was pulling you in, catching you, wooing you."

Will laughed dryly, "Hannibal's complex mating ritual."

"Did it work?" Hannibal asked.

"I am here, am I not?"

Hannibal slid his arms around Will's waist, pulling him close, leaning his head against Will's breathing him in then kissing him.  
Hannibal had been waiting for Will to wake up. A little over a year of traveling with a silent companion who moved slowly at his side or 3 steps behind him like a sleep walker was maddening. From vast beautiful apartments in ancient cities, with lively night life, to quiet seaside abodes where Hannibal smuggled arts and high priced goods in the dead of night to add to his pockets. They traveled through many countries, had discarded multiple identities. They'd been colleagues, travel companions, friends, lovers, married. With each new place Hannibal fabricated them new lives. Bought them rings, put together gestures, and stories to answer inevitable questions. They'd gone to college together, we're competing for the same discovery before working together. They'd met at a ball in Rome, talked into sunset, got into tons of trouble, and this was their newest adventure. They'd been childhood friends, Will was a bit shy, but by some coaxing had been talked into this trip. They'd met hiking in the woods. Will had lost his footing and fallen when Hannibal had found him. Will was the neighbor boy Hannibal had always loved, and they'd recently married, finally married.

Will had lost his ring from his marriage with Molly long ago. Somewhere between Thailand and India. The new ring Hannibal bought for Will fit better and looked better. Will never tried to take it off. Hannibal had been unsure whether this was just his lack of interacting with anything or, as he hoped in a corner of his heart, that it was Will's willingness that he kept it on.  
The kiss lasted until Will couldn't continue and rested his head on Hannibal's chest.

"Do you remember that first city we lived in?" Hannibal asked, sliding his hand into Will's unruly hair and running his fingers through it, filling the air with Will's scent.

Will nodded into Hannibal's chest.

"There was, down the block past the bakery and near the butchers, a pet shop. I walked past it ever day on my way to work and back. There were plenty of dogs, and I planed to get you one. As soon as we were safe. But the day before I planned to get one I saw people who shouldn't have been there, so we left. I'm sorry it took so long to get you a dog."

"So we're safe now?" Will asked looking up at Hannibal.

Hannibal slid off the counter and picked Will up into his arms. "If you like it here, then yes, this is our home."

Will looked out the big glass window, snow coming down, the dogs sleeping on the floor. A deer walking past stopped and met his gaze. "I like it here."

"Then it will be ours. The whole forest, will be ours. I will tell Chiyoh." Hannibal said.

"I knew she was here."

"She has always been here, only far enough away to keep an eye on us without drawing too much attention. Besides who did you think signed as a witness to our marriage license?"

"Don't you need two?"

"She found an other old friend to do the rest of it," Hannibal said climbing up the stairs and giving a nod to the trees.  
Getting the forest and the land surrounding their home was simple. Chiyoh worked quickly and before the week was out, the sprawling forest was protected and defended from any unknowns. The dogs ran through the woods with joy, exploring the streams, fishing with Hannibal and Will, and hunting with Chiyoh who lived quietly in the attic and in a sprawling network of tree houses the popped up seemingly overnight.

One morning after coming back from town Hannibal found Will sitting on the porch with Winston, both staring out into the woods. Hannibal stepped quietly, down wind, excited to catch them off guard, before pulling Will to him. "What are we looking at?" Hannibal asked.

"I thought I heard something in the woods," Will said.

Hannibal heard a soft tap of feet on wood and suddenly Chiyoh was crouched beside them. "A child."

Will was up and running into the woods before Hannibal could stop him. Hannibal looked at Chiyoh but she was gone again.  
Hannibal took off after Will. Listening for him in the woods. He'd gotten a lot further a lot faster than Hannibal had expected. Hannibal found Will standing in bloody snow, a sobbing girl and swaddled baby in his arms.

"What did you do Hannibal?" Will asked, eyes sharp looking up at him.

Hannibal knelt down and studied the girl, gently moving bloody hair from her face. He noticed her bare bloody feet and took off his jacket to wrap around her before taking her out of Will's arms.

"I didn't do this Will. Let's take them inside before they freeze."

Inside Hannibal bandaged the girl up and checked on the baby. He didn't have the right supplies at the moment to care for a baby, and sighed since he'd just come back from buying stuff from town. He heard Will talking softly to the girl. She had stopped crying and had a cup of hot coco with marshmallows in her hands.

Will joined him in the kitchen leaving the girl to play with the puppies. His face was hard, and a fire was lit in his eyes.

"Hannibal."

"We'll keep them."

"Can we?"

"Is there any competition?"

"Maybe, just one. But the tracks and the blood should lead him here."

"Then we wait."

There was a scream from the living room that sent the dogs barking and Hannibal and Will rushed back into the room. Chiyoh had come in through the window, with a burst of snow, gun slung over her shoulder. Seeing Hannibal and Will she sighed and tossed a bag to Hannibal before climbing back out the window. Will kneeled at the girl's side. "It's okay. That's Chiyoh. You're safe here. I promise."

Hannibal unpacked the bag, before turning back to the kitchen and readying the baby formula. The baby had awoken and Will held it gently, sitting on the couch next to the girl. As night fell they put the kids to bed with the dogs, turned off the lights and sat on the couch with Winston, wine in hand.

At one as the grandfather clock chimed and echoed the quiet house the big picture window exploded, sending glass cascading through the living room. Will and Hannibal moved quickly without a word. Armed with knives and brute force, the man quickly fell between them, blood seeping into the wood, without having woken up the children or the dogs. Will met Hannibal's eyes over the body between then, breathing heavily, together they carried the body into the back, into the freezer.

"Do you still like it here?" Hannibal asked, taking out a handkerchief and whipping blood from Will's face.

"I do. This is what you wanted for us. I didn't lie when I said it was beautiful," Will said looking out into the woods before walking back into the living room. "I have everything I want. You've given me everything I'd wanted."

"Dogs, a beautiful cabin in the woods, children. We are fathers again. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes. One day, you will have to tell me how you did it."

"How I did what?"

"You had your hand in that, I know you did. Is it your final gift? Children?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hannibal said with mischief in his eyes. He slid his arms around Will's waist and pulling him close. "Explain this talk of gifts and final gifts."

"You don't think that I haven't noticed all your gifts. The flowers you put outside my room every morning. What was I suppose to think, those just appeared, or that Chiyoh did it? You never cook anything I've ever expressed disliking, even if it's something you like. You always made sure we lived near a dog park or people with dogs even though I couldn't have one. You think I never took off this ring and saw what you had inscribed? You made sure there was something nearby in case I felt the need to protect myself, or even kill you. You took me fishing. You stopped walking all quiet and cat like so I always knew where you were. If I fell asleep in the bath tub you'd put me to bed. You packed my suitcases for me, but let me choose whether I'd come or not. You picked relaxing scents for aromatherapy to calm my nerves. I know you always waited until I fell asleep before doing so yourself. If you got back after I'd gone to bed you'd come in and watch me sleep, check on me, reassure yourself before going to your own room to sleep. You gave me my space. You didn't speak to me no matter how much it drove you nuts. You got Winston, even though it put you at risk. You settled for a cabin in the woods instead of a beautiful town house in a city," Will said a small knowing smile on his face. "Not to mention dogs, puppies, and children."

"Like you said, I have a very complicated mating ritual," Hannibal said cupping the side of Will's face. "A intricate way of telling you how I feel."

Will lifted his arms, slid his fingers into Hannibal's hair, messing it up from it's perfection, pressing his lips against Hannibal's. "When the children are older, let's get married again," Will whispered.

The moon was full and reflected off the black looking blood and broken glass. It was snowing, the flakes large and fat covering up the track and red snow, coating the whole woods. In the trees was a woman, drinking hot tea and keeping an eye on everything from her tree house, gun always within reach. In the house, two colleagues who'd become friends, enemies, traveling companions, married, and finally lovers, embraced. Safe, with meat in the freezer, ready to be prepared for a dinner party, a home filled with sleeping children and dogs in a fancy cabin in the middle of a large forest.


End file.
